The Bed Next Door

The bed next door to me used to be

A comfy place to sleep in

Now it’s just a space

To store blankets and books and cats

Even the cats don’t go there any more, in fact

The bed next door to me is waiting

Waiting like a dog for the man of the house

Like a little child for its mother to awake so it can play

Like the breathless waiting for the final ball of the match

Waiting like a bed for the butt that’s supposed to lazily lie

And the slob that’s supposed to spend the mornings in it

Waiting for the mass of uncompromising lazy

And the comforting certainty of being worth something

The bed next door to me used to be a comfy place to sleep in

But now it’s a vacant waiting room

With vacant chairs

Occupied by vacant stares

Looking into vagueness for something that isn’t there

Waiting for the train to roll in

For the doctor to see you now

For the results of the entrance test that decides your future

The bed next door to me is a petulant little child

It refuses to wait

It throws off patience

It throws tantrums

It wails and stomps and screams

It demands

That you with the lazy butt

Come and calm the storm and sleep all day

And make it all better

Because the bed next door to me?

It’s annoying with its emptiness

And its unending waiting

Because it’s a bed, not a storage space

It deserves to be treated better than to be used

To store blankets and books and cats

Even the cats don’t go there any more, in fact.